


Done and dusted

by MercuryAlice



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, accidental zombies, these assholes are a hazard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:51:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2279085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryAlice/pseuds/MercuryAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumlow/Rollins - #40 'exes meeting again after not speaking for years au'</p>
<p>It was only a little car bomb, and it wasn’t like Brock was in the fucking car at the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Done and dusted

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the short fic prompts thingy.

**Atlanta, ‘04**

 

It wasn’t a break up if you were never ‘ _dating_ ’ to begin with. Fucking on a regular basis and wrecking hotel rooms a relationship did not make. And no, no he didn’t happen to give a shit that it was over with. Good fucking riddance. Brock Rumlow could take his arrogant, semi-charming bullshit with him off the face of the Earth for all he cared.

 

Or, you know, under a well timed passing bus, maybe.

 

Jack took no small amount of pleasure in the fact that the asshole was going to be carrying around scars from him for the rest of his life; while happening to ignore the fact that it was true in the reverse too.

 

It was only a little car bomb, and it wasn’t like Brock was in the fucking car at the time. Just like it was only a little flash grenade, and Jack had had his back turned when it rolled into the living room at the time.

 

So on and so forth until it was more animosity than a few good fucks could level.

 

It wasn’t a break up, it was mutually assured destruction. And Brock Rumlow could fuck off back to whatever shitty little trailer park he dragged himself out of. Rollins had rapidly run out of fucks to give.

 

Done and dusted.

 

~

 

**Atlanta, ‘14**

 

It’s hot. Too fucking hot. Too hot to be dealing with the dumbass dead, anyway. So he doesn’t. On the outskirts of Atlanta, a city he hasn’t been to in years, Jack Rollins sits on the roof of a run down little house that’s somehow already seeming to be reclaimed by nature; the street below blessedly clear of shamblers.

 

Until it isn’t.

 

One shot cracks the bitumen at the man’s feet in the second before Jack jumps down from the roof, landing just so and meeting the gun aimed at him with a grin.

 

“You’re going grey on top of getting fucking stupid.” He makes the crack at the same time a moan sounds and they both turn at the same time, firing. It’s impossible to tell whose shot was the killing blow.

 

“Lookit that. The ugly fuck survives the apocalypse.” Rumlow drawls, and there’s more teeth than friendliness in both their smiles.

 

“Aw, don’t be like that. You ain’t that bad.” He returns idly, the banter like an eerie echo in a world already ringing with echoes.

 

And if they both happen to be going the same way, well that just happens to be a coincidence, doesn’t it?

  
  
  
  



End file.
